


Freshly Brewed

by runicmagitek



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: "I want to treat you to something nice.”“You’resomething nice.”Alphonse breathed out a nervous chuckle. “If you keep it up, I’m going to burn your omelet.”Al's late-night visit is the first surprise for Winry, the second being breakfast come morning.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Freshly Brewed

**Author's Note:**

> For GYWO's 2020 Yahtzee word prompt: _acidic_

Sunlight spilled through the open window. The warm rays tickled Winry’s face. She winced, groaned, and rolled onto her other side, sheets tangled in her legs as she nuzzled deeper into her pillow. _How can it already be morning?_ she wondered, hazy thoughts fading as quickly as they appeared. _Must_ _’ve slept like a rock._

Remembering the night made her smile and blush. It was why they cracked open the window once exhausted—a little midnight summer breeze to cool off her bodies and lull them to sleep. She pawed the space beside her, hoping to garner enough of his attention for some lazy snuggling. Instead, Winry found an empty space in the bed, as if he were never there to begin with.

Anxiety gripped her chest. She gasped and jolted upright. Winry almost screamed his name—out of panic, this time—but the rich aroma of coffee silenced her.

She paused, basking in the scent. Most of her cups were brewed in the witching hours, desperate to stay awake to finish another, last-minute automail order. But she wasn’t making coffee; she was in bed and someone was in the kitchen.

Winry slipped out, careful not to stomp across the wooden floors. Clothes scattered about the room, none of which were hers. She swiped the nearest article—a white dress shirt too big for her—and shrugged it on. A distinct scent imbued the fabric. Winry inhaled the collar and smiled. Oh, how she had missed him.

He returned on the last train to Resembool. Winry gave up waiting at the station, though he arrived at her doorsteps before she retired for the night. A glimpse of his face restored her sapped energy. She jumped into his arms and stayed up long enough to celebrate his return. As much as she loathed the distance between them during his travels, Winry relished their short-lived time together more and more.

It was evident in her sore body and wobbly legs and the gentle bruises on her neck and the trail of clothes—her clothes—that led to the kitchen. Right where he was.

Bacon fat and yeast imbued the air. The skillet sizzled and a timer chimed and he hummed with his back to her, caught up in the magic of cooking. Winry leaned in the door frame with a knowing smile. To think he spent a chunk of his life unable to taste what he conjured now. Sometimes she wondered if that’s what piqued his interest in culinary arts. Or perhaps something else.

Tying her hair into a messy bun, Winry closed the distance between them. Feet shuffled across cool tiles and halted upon reaching him. She enveloped him from behind and he gasped. It didn’t stop her from burying her face into his neck. And there was that scent again—his.

“Hey, Al,” she murmured.

“W-Winry?” He peeked past his shoulder, pink warming his face. The surprise lifted from his features and Winry felt his muscles relax. “Hey, wasn’t expecting you to be up this early.”

“Same goes to you,” she muttered and kicked his foot, though it qualified more as a nudge with her lazy energy. “I was hoping to wake up next to you.”

“Sorry.” Alphonse flashed a gentle smile before resuming his cooking. “If it’s any consolation, I was hoping to wake you up with breakfast.”

Winry squeezed him and groaned. “You didn’t have to do that, Al.”

“I guess not. I don’t have to do a lot of things, but I do them because I want to. And right now? I want to treat you to something nice.”

“ _You_ _’re_ something nice.”

Alphonse breathed out a nervous chuckle. “If you keep it up, I’m going to burn your omelet.”

“We wouldn’t want _that_ ,” Winry teased.

He turned into her, albeit briefly. Soft lips found a home between her eyes. Winry leaned into him, longing to draw him in closer just like the other night. She wanted his touch and his attention and his tenderness. Forcing her heavy lids open, she found Alphonse smiling. Chills danced up and down her spine from that gaze alone.

“Why don’t you curl back up in bed,” he suggested, poking her nose with his for emphasis, “and I’ll be up in a second with your treat.”

“Are you on the menu?” Winry asked. She lifted a hand to tug at his shirt, only to gently rake her nails over his bare chest. Her eyes widened. Of course he was shirtless in the kitchen.

Then again, from the way he looked at her wearing _his_ shirt and nothing else, perhaps the feeling was mutual.

“Uh….” Alphonse averted his gaze, as if their heated night together had never occurred. “Yeah, so um… like I said. I’m finishing up and—”

“I’ll be in bed.” Winry skimmed her fingertips along his arm before stepping away.

Despite her yawning and shuffling feet, she peeked back to drink in the sight of him. Cooking for her. And shirtless. _Definitely_ shirtless. She hoped they had enough time for more than breakfast before he caught his next train.

Until then, Winry trod up the stairs and collapsed into bed. More sunlight washed over the room. The intermittent breeze wasn’t as soothing as the cool night air, but she welcomed it. Her shirt—Al’s shirt, anyways—sighed up and revealed sweat beading on her bare stomach and sternum. Winry stretched and sighed, easing deeper into pillows and blankets. For all the late nights occupied with work, they didn’t compare to the impromptu nights with Alphonse. She chewed her bottom lip to restrain the grin; despite her tired form, her heart continued to thrum at the mere thought of him.

The scent of coffee deepening in the room returned her to reality. So did the subtle shift in the mattress.

“Hey.”

Alphonse sat on the edge of the bed, smiling and holding a tray. Plates and cups stuffed the surface, full of bacon, omelets, toast, fruit, and waffles. Butter and syrup coated each morsel. Beyond it all, she eyed the mug of coffee beside a glass of orange juice.

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” she said, forcing herself upright while Alphonse situated the tray on her lap.

“I wanted to,” he reminded her. “I like to think that’s enough reason.”

“It is.” Winry scooped the mug and inhaled the bold aroma. After a sip, she exhaled.

Alphonse tilted his head, worry lining his face. “Did I make it alright?”

“Alright?” Winry snorted. “This is divine. Not too sweet—can still taste the coffee.” Another sip and Winry moaned. “Yeah, a girl could get used to this.”

“Used to what?”

She raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Having a guy make her coffee first thing in the morning.”

“That good, huh?”

“I’d almost say it’s better than last night, but—”

She loved the shade of red his complexion shifted to. Just as much as his stammering in an attempt to shift the topic. The way Winry saw it, there was nothing to be embarrassed about, especially when she loved both.

“I’m giving you a hard time,” Winry giggled out, waving a dismissive hand. “But really, Al—thank you.”

Heaving out a sigh, he slumped forward and cracked a smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

They shared food along with idle chatter; Alphonse shared his new research findings from Xing and Winry discussed her latest engineering commissions. Between laughter and groans, the food and drinks vanished—nothing but crumbs and coffee stains. Winry still cradled her warm mug to her cheek. The acidic taste lingered on her tongue, overwhelming the rich, buttery flavors of her meal. The sharp contrast was a breath of fresh air, a reminder to stop and relax. It was why she brewed herself a cup every morning—little else made her eager for the days to come.

Then she looked to the man who made that particular cup of coffee and smiled.

“Something wrong?” Alphonse asked.

Winry shook her head. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

She shifted the breakfast tray off her lap and settled her empty mug down with it. Inching towards him, she ignored the stubborn strands of hair falling over her shoulder or the breeze catching in her open shirt. She instead focused on how his blond hair fell across his eyes and how that golden gaze scanned her form, lingering on the exposed skin highlighted by the sun. The look alone swelled in Winry’s core. She slid into his lip and he slipped his hands beneath her open shirt, skimmed her warm body, and enveloped her tight.

“You make me so incredibly happy,” Winry murmured.

Fingers swept through his hair. Their foreheads met. She locked eyes with Alphonse, squirming at the tenderness held in his gaze.

“I’m glad,” he replied. “Same goes to you, too. That’ll never change.”

“I hope it never does.”

“It won't. So long as you keep welcoming me home at midnight, I’d be hard-pressed to think otherwise.”

Winry giggled. Their lips brushed over one another. “You need to get better about that, though.”

“Yeah, I know.” He paused. “Hopefully the breakfast makes up for it?”

“The coffee alone does,” she purred out.

He had more to say—he always did—and Winry smothered it with a hard kiss. His breath hitched, then yielded to a delighted whimper. Despite the obscene amount of milk he dumped into his coffee, she still tasted acidic notes as his tongue pressed into hers. Winry smiled at the discovery, basked in the chills it rattled within her, and dove back in for more.


End file.
